


something or nothing

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Hybrids, M/M, Secret Marriage, xiuyeol are sports lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: various prompt fills - rating may change･*suyeol | married in secretchansooho | partners adopting a bunnysuyeol | (‘I love you’ prompts) with a shuddering gaspchansoo | (‘I love you’ prompts) when baking cookiesxiuyeol | (‘I love you’ prompts) on a sunny tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hairtaochen | baking together





	1. suyeol

“If you don’t buy me a ring the _second_ we’re back home,” Chanyeol says warningly, then flops onto his back and is immediately swallowed up by pillows, “I’ll be pretty ok with it. They’re not comfortable.”

“Agree.” Junmyeon flexes his fingers, weighed down with heavy rose gold bands. Spare for the largest one, which he slid onto Chanyeol a few hours ago and is still adjusting to the loss of. “I’ll need that back tomorrow, anyway.”

Chanyeol hums, lifting his hand to admire the chunky ring. So heavy. Good thing this isn’t his sponsor; he’d never wear it just to be seen in it. “I’ll find something else to wear until we can get real ones,” he lowers his arm and stretches it out, reaching for Junmyeon to drag into the pillow swamp alongside him, “Unless you decide you want to burn the marriage certificate before we head back.”

“No,” Junmyeon scowls, “I’m not _that_ commitment pho- oh my god, these pillows,” he gasps, and Chanyeol laughs and squirms deeper into his side of the pile. “If neither of us disappear into this bed and fail to resurface, once we’re home we can decide on rings we both like.”

“Yeah. Or bracelets? Necklaces. Or something.” Chanyeol wrestles a pillow into his arms to curl around. He likes tradition and sentimentality and Junmyeon’s less keen, but Junmyeon likes accessories more than him. Regardless, it’s questionable for both of their careers if it would be easy to just secretly get married. They just..really secretly got married. Chanyeol smiles into the pillow. 

Pouting curiously, Junmyeon wriggles down to share it with him, nudging their heads together. “What?”

“Just,” Chanyeol’s face flushes hot. By coincidence they’re booked in at the same hotel, as are some models from an agency unrelated to either of theirs. They came back to Chanyeol’s room because it was in a more secluded area, and all of this is very, very stupid. “We did that, huh.”

They sure did. Junmyeon makes a little sound and squirms until Chanyeol gets the idea that he needs to be held still. Bundled up. “Regretting it yet?”

It’s the first moment of peace they’ve really had since committing the crime. Chanyeol had the morning free to double-triple check the route they’d take, picked Junmyeon up after his photoshoot with changes of clothes for them both carefully folded into a travel bag. They said their makeshift vows in a chintzy little chapel not designed with sobriety in mind. Chanyeol lost a verse of their song to tears, but it was unlikely any of the guests could understand him anyway. They walked at least a mile along the stretch of wet sand outside, shoes in hand and taking turns on the mini champagne bottle handed to them when they left.

“Not yet. We’ve done stupider things.”

Junmyeon laughs, his perfect rows of teeth meeting. “Really? Stupider than getting married on a whim?”

“It wasn’t on a whim!” Chanyeol knees Junmyeon and gets a swift jab in the stomach in return. “I asked you to consider it, like, maybe eight months ago,” he winces, rubbing his palm over the sore spot. 

That makes Junmyeon laugh again, and he lets his weight slope against Chanyeol, burying in between him and the pillow. “Park Chanyeol the great romantic didn’t even propose, you just _asked me to consider it_.”

Yes, well. “Being gay is the least disappointing thing my mother has had to deal with,” he sighs, “You know she will actually kill me if she finds out we got married without inviting her?”

Junmyeon makes a sound that’s warm against Chanyeol’s skin. “It’s not like this one is legally recognised at home. We could always have another.. What?” he pushes his chin into Chanyeol’s chest to try and stop him jolting with laughter, “What’s funny about that.”

“I didn’t even propose because I know you’d hate it, and now you want to do this twice?”

Junmyeon abruptly resurfaces, hair sticking on end. Chanyeol smooths it down, and along with it Junmyeon’s frown under the warmth of his big palm. “I don’t. But I want you and your family to be happy that we’re together.”

Mama Park did an incredible job with the planning of Yoora’s wedding. They probably could do that, if with slightly more hurdles with it needing to be overseas. But much as Junmyeon enjoys attention and showing off his very tall, very handsome partner, he definitely doesn’t want a church wedding, and Mama Park definitely will. (Not a real church, anyway. There was an ornamental flamingo in an alcove behind Chanyeol that had Junmyeon biting back a laugh when they were exchanging vows.)

“Husband,” Chanyeol sounds just a little too pleased for it to intone as exasperated, “You’re lucky they let you leave whenever you visit.”

Junmyeon nods. “I have that effect on people,” he says, then collapses back down in giggles. Chanyeol rolls his eyes, but he still lets Junmyeon wriggle back into his arms. “We’ll be legal husbands every time we’re in Europe, at least. That’s not so bad, right?”

“Sounds stupid,” Chanyeol says, thumbing the ring around his finger. He’s never giving it back.


	2. chansooho

“You’re good with all animals,” Kyungsoo soothes, simultaneously petting Junmyeon’s hair and squeezing Chanyeol’s shoulder. “They always like you.”

“Usually.”

Kyungsoo hums, thumbing behind Junmyeon’s left ear where the fur is short and coarse. It sends a little tingle through him, and Chanyeol is so fond of how their bunny kicks his little feet he feels even more miserable. “Eventually,” Kyungsoo corrects gently, “Maybe we just need to learn a bit more about how to care for rabbits.”

Chanyeol huffs, sinks deeper into his hoodie. There’s no _we_ about it; Junmyeon loved Kyungsoo the moment their eyes met (so at the least he and Chanyeol have something in common). It was hard to pry his little paws from Kyungsoo’s hand long enough for him to co-sign the adoption papers. Chanyeol drove so they could sit in the back together. Three days later and he still scoots away from Chanyeol to snuffle with displeasure from behind Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“I’ve never met a bunny in person before now,” Chanyeol concedes. They’d gone looking for a puppy, or maybe a cat. Kyungsoo really wanted a puppy (“But I already have Chanyeol, don’t I?” he’d reassured Junmyeon, “So a bunny would be just fine.”), and Chanyeol was good with anything. He likes all animals and he likes the idea that Kyungsoo is ready to adopt with him, and he really really likes Junmyeon. “Do you think it’s- am I just too tall and loud for him?”

There’s not much Chanyeol can do about that beside remembering to speak softly. Kyungsoo often makes him forget the gap in their heights is even there, let alone an issue, but Junmyeon just seems so _small_. They both frown down at him, curled half on a couch cushion and half in Kyungsoo’s lap.

Kyungsoo turns back to Chanyeol. “I’m sure it-”

Junmyeon lifts his head, sandy brown ears perked. “You’re not big and scary,” he says, pouts, and buries back down against Kyungsoo’s thigh. Well. 

“Hear that?” Kyungsoo gives Chanyeol a sidelong smile, returning his fingers to the ridge of Junmyeon’s ear. “Cute and tiny, just like Junmyeonnie.”

Junmyeon snuffles loudly at that. His cotton tail twitches, and Chanyeol leans across to gently stroke along it with a fingertip. His left foot kicks lightly against the back of the couch.


	3. suyeol

Chanyeol is trained, kind of, in how to handle this type of thing. Or he at least has a combination of skills that he feels amount to what can be called _some prior experience_  without lying. “It’s ok, I know it’ll be ok,” he says, and that’s optimism rather than expertise, but it will be. “I went to the jungle- remember?”

Junmyeon nods. His jaw is clenched so tight, his hands white-knuckle gripping his shin.

They’re two miles off a rambling path, in a cultivated forest. It’s hardly as drastic as when Chanyeol was shedding blood, sweat and tears in Brunei. They wandered away from the trail worn into the grass and found the flag the production team planted easily, Junmyeon filming their victory on the small handheld they were given and Chanyeol holding the square of fabric well out of his reach.

“We’re just gonna,” Chanyeol crouches beside Junmyeon and he flinches, instinctively wary. Kind of mean, but, circumstances. Chanyeol’s got a reputation for his brand of tactile, and Junmyeon wouldn’t have snagged his leg at all if he’d been on a team with someone..not-Chanyeol. “We’re gonna look and see how bad it is first, ok? And then go find the staff.”

“Nononono,” Junmyeon frantically waves his hands as Chanyeol takes hold of his ankle, “I want them to look. I don’t-” the sudden release of pressure hits him, and he whimpers, clamping both hands back down.

“Ok,” Chanyeol backs off, “Ok. Then let’s focus on getting back to everyone.” It’s a thing, Chanyeol gets it. They all have things. You don’t do a job so reliant on your body and so prone to injury without developing a few anxieties, and Junmyeon’s been unfortunate below knee.

The nearest staff are probably only a few minutes away - might even notice them from a distance if they just get back to the path. So, back to the path.

“How do you want to be carried?” is how Chanyeol poses the suggestion, “On my back? Or like a princess.”

Junmyeon shakes his hair out of his face. His eyes are glassy. “You shouldn’t..”

“I’ve been working out. I mean, my back is fine, it’s been no trouble in any routines,” Chanyeol dismisses. He knows Junmyeon’s scared it’s something really bad, and he wants him to know that it’ll be ok. Somehow. “But also I have like, super human strength right now, so it’ll be easy!”

Easy enough. Chanyeol folds their flag into a square and slips it in his back pocket, and he helps a distracted Junmyeon loop the handhold on the camera back around his wrist. He helps Junmyeon up, crouches down, and with some pulling, readjusting and cursing, Junmyeon is soon attached to his back like a koala.

“I know it’ll hurt,” Chanyeol says, feeling back for where he’ll need to support Junmyeon’s legs when they come up to grip his sides. “But don’t be dramatic. Dropping you isn’t gonna help us get you back super fast.”

“I won’t,” Junmyeon mumbles, sullen for a moment. He sniffles loudly, adjusting the weight on his good foot and his hold around Chanyeol’s shoulders. Like a princess may have been the easier option now the actual logistics are coming into it. 

“Extra super fast. And carefully, I promise,” Chanyeol reassures him. There’s a sound he assumes is agreement, so carefully he lifts, taking Junmyeon’s weight on his back little by little. There’s the point where he has to shrug him up higher and get a hold under his legs, and that’s when Junmyeon gasps in pain. “Sorry,” Chanyeol winces, “That was the worst part.”

“That was the worst part,” Junmyeon repeats weakly. If Chanyeol was concerned that he’d faint, the strength Junmyeon is crushing his sides and clinging to his shoulders with is reassuring.

“Hold tight,” he says anyway, and takes a step forward, testing how to balance the weight on his back.

Junmyeon buries in at the back of Chanyeol’s neck, like he doesn’t want to look down. His nose is pressed to the strip of skin between Chanyeol’s hairline and collar. “Thank you. Thank you, I love you. I love you so much.”

“I think you’re in shock, hyung.” Chanyeol dips his head down and focuses on his footing. 


	4. chansoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /cool/ gay uncles

“I’ve got you well trained,” Kyungsoo says from the kitchen doorway, arms folded across his chest. He means in the puppy way, not the husbands-are-useless-until-taught-otherwise way.

Chanyeol was staring into the oven so intently he startles, shoulders jumping. He’s still wearing his work shirt, tight across his back and the apron ties around his waist gathering the fabric in where it hangs loose. “You’re home,” he claps his hands, then wipes them off on the sides of the apron. And then he responds to the praise as it was intended, good as bounding over for a reward.

Kyungsoo standing on the step between hall and kitchen makes him tall enough to reach Chanyeol’s chin without a stretch. Chanyeol eagerly comes down the rest of the way to eye level. Kyungsoo rests a hand on his shoulder, pecks his cheek.

“I learn fast,” Chanyeol beams, eyes crinkling. It’s a prompt to reward him further, and Kyungsoo happily takes it, kissing his lips this time. His hands find thin fabric and hot skin under the apron, in the spaces at Chanyeol’s ribs above the ties. 

“You do,” Kyungsoo smiles, nosing at Chanyeol’s cheek, “You’re a good boy.” Just from the quick cursory glance Kyungsoo took of the kitchen he saw that the surfaces are all wiped down, bowls in the sink. The only mess in sight is a single large handprint on Chanyeol’s apron. Learning someone else’s methods around a kitchen is much harder than learning to make cookies. “My best boy,” he adds with a grateful squeeze around Chanyeol’s middle. Chanyeol squeezes so hard in return it nearly lifts Kyungsoo off the step, and from there he somehow ends up in the kitchen, laughing into Chanyeol’s chest.

“I knew I’d get the hang of it once I got started,” Chanyeol says. He means baking, but kind of also the fact he’d never had a kitchen of his own until they bought a marital home. Or, never had _a kitchen_ in the same sense as Kyungsoo, at least.

Kyungsoo elbows him playfully for fishing for another compliment. “It’s nice coming home to the place smelling of baking,” he says instead. Noticing the printout on the counter he drifts towards it, sniffing at the air again to try and determine what the recipe might be before reading it.

Since Yoora’s children have been school age there’s been a surprising increase of demand for Kyungsoo’s cooking skills and fancy kitchen. He’s more than happy to help (if anything he finds an excuse to bake sweet treats an indulgence), but Chanyeol’s interest in making it a joint venture has been very welcome. “Is this for the kids? It sounds..grown up.” Kyungsoo taps the paper, frowning, “Is it ok to use a common allergen for a whole class?”

“Right! She gave me this recipe but then I was like, I don’t think kids that age would like hazelnuts? And it might not be ok for everyone anyway. But the requirement was that they’re _healthy cookies_ ,” Chanyeol explains with dubious emphasis, “So I got oat milk instead to be like, the healthy substitute. And I figured the chocolate that’s supposed to be good for you would be too bitter for kids so I got organic? I hope that counts. I understand why everything in those fancy specialist cafes Junmyeon likes is so expensive now.”

“Ah,” Kyungsoo says, bare minimum interruption in case Chanyeol’s ramble wasn’t finished.

“So, anyway,” Chanyeol pats the flour off his apron in a little cloud, “It’s a super adapted recipe, I hope it’s ok. It’s always stressful if its for the kids, you know, like, the whole gay uncles thing seems to be going ok as long as we’re _cool_ gay uncles. Anyway,” he catches himself again, “It only needed a small amount of the milk, so I’ve been looking at other ways to use it, if you wanna go over recipes tonight?”

Sometimes it makes Kyungsoo’s head spin a little, trying to decide which part of everything Chanyeol’s said to respond to. What comes out is, “I love you,” and then he coughs and busies himself with adjusting his glasses. 

“I love you too? Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol’s grinning, bending down and trying to peer in at him. “It’s cute when you look surprised that you said it.”

Kyungsoo has a husband who bakes and cleans up after himself and wants to read recipes in bed together - he loves him more every single day. “This-” he gestures vaguely around them, then settles his elbow neatly in Chanyeol’s side again, “Don’t laugh. This is so attractive to me.”

Chanyeol blinks at him, eyes shining at this new information. “Kinda like how I get excited when you’re being all manly tending to the garden?”

Kyungsoo smiles, lopsided. “Something like that.”

“Ah, here- I took it off for kneading.” Chanyeol slips his right hand into his pocket and tugs on Kyungsoo’s wrist with his left. He fits his closed fist in Kyungsoo’s upturned hand and slowly opens up. The warm, solid weight of his wedding band drops into Kyungsoo’s palm. “Will you do me the honour?”

Kyungsoo smiles, turning the ring between his fingers. It’s much larger than his own, easily slipping down his thumb. “I will. -I do,” he corrects, and Chanyeol offers him his hand, beaming.


	5. xiuyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> useless ‘I want a gf’ lesbians..xiuyeol are the first totally new-to-me pairing I’ve written in a very long time, but I got very attached to this au even if it’s tiny !;;

Minseok plays soccer, Chanyeol basketball. Their respective teams are given the same lunch break hour and half each of the largest hall in the sports centre, sectioned off with plastic cones. It’s been a good arrangement for the past six months. Three weeks in Chanyeol attempted to kick a stray ball back to the other side of the dividing line and hurt her toes, smashed Minseok’s knee. She insisted on getting ice for them both and an apology snack from the vending machine for Minseok. She was less insistent about assisting for the walk back to work (creepy? overstepping, at the least), but they chatted and hobbled together and found their route was shared as far as the plaza separating the buildings. So that’s been a good arrangement, too.

 

“We clash today,” Minseok musses her own hair in reference to Chanyeol’s freshly dyed cut. “Noticed you glowing from across the hall,” she smiles, “Red always suits you.”

Chanyeol rocks her head so her braid swings dangerously near to Minseok’s face. Minseok’s hair has been cropped short and a bright apricot-orange ever since Chanyeol first noticed her. Chanyeol’s never had the courage to cut her own that short. Or to tell Minseok how much it suits her - _I thought you were a basketball without my glasses_ was the closest she ever got, then wrestled Minseok with excess enthusiasm.

“We don’t _clash_ , we’re just. We’re the protagonists of our respective sports anime,” Chanyeol decides, “They should do like, after each episode all the characters from different sports series commute together and talk about stuff that doesn’t make sense to each other.”

“We make sense to each other,” Minseok pouts, playfully swinging her bag against Chanyeol’s side. She then has to heft it back up onto her shoulder, holding the short straps tight to balance the weight. It’s nearly as tall as her if stood up on end. “Even if I don’t understand why you like throwing a ball rather than kicking it.”

Chanyeol immediately takes the bait, puffing up in her oversize tracksuit jacket. “Like chasing after it while it rolls away is any fun!”

They walk sharing the lazy, well worn argument. It comes up at least one of the three times a week they meet. Otherwise their small commute together consists of inane conversations that don’t suit anyone else. Once Chanyeol cried about an issue at work and Minseok rubbed her back for the entire walk, and several times Chanyeol has silently nodded along when Minseok’s train of thought drifts to less cheerful aspects of women’s sport. Mostly, though, Minseok likes talking about how her cleaning habits are relaxing, and the blog she runs for her cat. She appreciates that Chanyeol doesn’t make _comments_ like her other friends, while Chanyeol winds up saying at least seven dumb things in as many minutes and likes that it always feels as though Minseok laughs with, not at her. Even on a sports team Chanyeol feels too boisterous for most girls, but she doesn’t really want to let any men close either. Minseok is. Y’know. Neat, and stuff.

Once their debate is over they walk in peaceful silence. Chanyeol counts the rhythm of their steps, the beat of her braid against her back as it swings. It’s a slightly longer route than the one she used to take alone, but it’s nicer. Taking the residential streets keeps the sound of the city away, like they’re in a little bubble that muffles the noise to a distant rumble, and all of the steam and smoke pouring from the backs of the buildings smells of good food. Rolling her sore shoulders, Chanyeol glances across at Minseok for a beat, then back ahead.

“Ah-” There’s a local train line that cuts straight through the street to cross the river further down. The bell is sounding in warning but the orange lights on the barriers aren’t flashing. “Run for it?” Chanyeol suggests.

“Don’t,” Minseok gestures and then drops her hand; too far, not worth the effort. “I’m not in a rush. Sometimes I think I like this part more than actually playing, to be honest.”

They stop a few feet back from the lowering barrier. “For the company, yeah?” Chanyeol smiles and digs the scuffed toe of her work shoe into a clump of dandelions growing through the paving.

“Of course,” Minseok humours her, then sighs and rolls her neck. “It’s nice being outdoors. I don’t think I can renew next season, so I’m making the most of it.”

Something inside Chanyeol lurches. Like the first time Minseok smiled at her but, like if she’d just kicked her knee to return the damage instead. “What? Why? What about your team?” 

“What about them,” Minseok laughs, shifting the weight of the bag on her shoulder, “We haven’t played a competitive match in months. It’s fun and good exercise, but we’re at that age,” she shrugs, “You know how it is.”

Yeah, Chanyeol knows. It’s similar on her team. And at work, and in her circle of friends, and her hobby groups online. Seems like every week someone’s announcing engagements and kids and their worlds are shifting. Sometimes it feels like Chanyeol must be doing something wrong, because hers seems to stay exactly the same.

Minseok has her hands in her pockets, twisting from side to side. Chanyeol’s watching her when the train passes, her hair lit fiery gold in the sun and ruffling from the breeze. “It’s expensive, you know?” Minseok tips onto her toes and looks after the train as it speeds towards the bridge, “I have friends who’d be happy to chase a ball around a field for free on weekends. Though I’ll be jealous if I ever see you walking by.”

“I’ll wave at your office when I pass,” Chanyeol jokes around the feeling of cotton filling her mouth. Haha, she totally has tons of other maybe-not-straight friends to talk to and totally won’t have a hundred cowardly unspoken regrets that will haunt her for the rest of her life. “Your performance will improve, not losing any more braincells making conversation with me.” She stubs her shoe hard into the springy centre of the weeds, and then the barrier raises and she doesn’t coordinate the information well, tripping forward.

The weight of Minseok’s bags swings into Chanyeol’s hip, but the sharp bump doesn’t really matter when Minseok’s arm is suddenly looped around her. “I love our talks, Chanyeollie,” she frowns. They’re halfway across the tracks and she’s still holding tight.

Chanyeol feels overheated where they’re pressed close, but that doesn’t mean much when her throat and eyes and the back of her nose feel so hot and prickly too. “Sure you do.”

“Of course I do. I love _you_ , silly,” Minseok lets Chanyeol go to give her arm a gentle smack, “When we can’t do this anymore we can always just meet up some other time.”

They could? Minseok- what? “We..you’d like to do that?”

It takes Chanyeol flushing from her ears to the collar of her shirt for Minseok to realise what she said didn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah,” she confirms quickly, gripping her bag straps with both hands again and squeezing tight. “Yes, we can do that. Yeah.”

“I’m not playing soccer.”

“I’ll give basketball a try, but you’re at an advantage. Or we could..coffee?”

Chanyeol nods enthusiastically. “You can teach me about it. Coffee, I mean. And we can just- have coffee, yeah. That’d be nice.”

“Yeah,” Minseok smiles up at her, then laughs. She lets out a sigh Chanyeol’s pretty sure is of relief that they stumbled through that. “It’s still a few months until it even needs thinking about, I’m sure we’ll come up with something by then.”

“Something really fun!” Despite feeling like her head is spinning, Chanyeol hops and twirls. Minseok’s little hand preemptively shoots out to steady her. Her fingers just graze Chanyeol’s wrist, then hook into her sleeve. Chanyeol follows the gentle tug and turns back, and Minseok’s smiling again, glowing in the slice of sunlight between buildings. 


	6. taochen

“It’s for you,” Zitao announces proudly. In his hands is a plate with a portion of cake crumbling across it, like he hacked the slice out with a spoon. He probably did. It’s still warm and soft.

“It- Tao,” Jongdae whines, “I just made it!” He takes the plate because Zitao won’t stop pushing it at him, giving his smile an exasperated sigh.

“With my guidance! I put all your favourite things in! You made it exactly how you like it best, so I got you the best cake ever.” Zitao pauses in dusting flour from his apron to gesture for Jongdae to try some. Jongdae opens his mouth to speak, not eat. “No- _Because_ , hyung, because you never spend time on yourself.”

“For good reason,” Jongdae pinches up a chunk of the cake and chews on it, expression neutral. It’s really good. Well- obviously it is, people wouldn’t buy them from him if they weren’t _good_. “I should have been working, Tao, you said it was-”

“You not having a day off in months _is_ an emergency.”

Jongdae scowls and stuffs more warm, undeniably delicious cake into his mouth. Zitao looks ridiculous with Jongdae’s glaringly yellow apron too small across his chest and too short to have prevented the neat line of flour spilled down his tracksuit pants. He barely even contributed to the actual making and somehow got as messy as the kids Jongdae does classes with every Thursday afternoon.

With effort Zitao manages to unpick the bow Jongdae tied after double-looping the long cords around his waist. “And you got to spend time with me,” he adds. 

“We live together, Tao.”

Zitao swipes a cord at him, trying to get it to wrap around Jongdae’s wrist. “And?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ! ☀ I am on [twt](https://twitter.com/taonsil) ❀ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/suyeols) 24/7 crying about suyeol and queer things, often simultaneously


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